Marshall's Mission

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A tall man with a weathered, homely face, in which there was the visible touch of greatness, stepped briskly down the ramp of the plane from China. Three months, almost to the hour, after he had left for Chungking, U.S. Special Envoy George Catlett Marshall was back in Washington. He had time for a broad, boyish grin and two kisses for his waiting wife, quick handshakes for a cluster of welcoming dignitaries. Then he hurried away, in a long black Packard, to report to the White House on the most significant mission undertaken by a U.S. citizen since the end of World War II.

He had found a nation of 450 million war-sick people on the verge of civil war; he had left it not at peace, but in truce and hope. For his part in that rescue the Chinese could--and warmly did--thank him. The U.S. and the world could thank George Marshall for an even more important service. For the first time in a major postwar issue, the power, prestige and principles of U.S. democracy had been brought to bear in constructive, positive fashion.

Danger Ahead. Everywhere else democracy and U.S. policy were on the defensive or in a frustrated deadlock with their enemies. Eastern Europe was closed to U.S. influence. Occupied Germany was a deepening morass of four-power conflict. France, Italy, The Netherlands and Belgium were allowed to drift through a year of chaotic "peace." Spain was an embarrassing problem. Even U.S.-British relations had soured over the bungled preparations for the British loan. In the Americas, Peron prospered on Washington's opposition. In southeast Asia and Indonesia, restless peoples, driving for freedom, were losing faith in a U.S. which appeared only as an associate of their masters. Russian power waxed, but not all the reasons were to be found in Moscow.

Had the U.S. failed to move affirmatively and effectively in China, the world could only have come to the disillusioning conclusion that U.S. democracy was not an exportable commodity.

Marshall was well aware of the danger. In a valedictory message as Army Chief of Staff last October, he asked: "Are we already shirking the responsibility of victory? . . . Are we inviting the same international disrespect that prevailed before this war?" He had given his rhetorical question a ringing answer: "We must not waste the victory. ..."

Challenge Ahead. No single man׫certainly no foreigner--could have preserved the victory in China. The Chinese masses passionately wanted what U.S. policy wanted for China: a strong, independent, unified, democratic nation. This intense popular demand restrained Chinese Communist intransigence and gave Generalissimo Chiang Kai-shek a chance to set in motion the machinery of political reconstruction. But China needed outside help--guidance, mediation and the confidence of a strong friend who would not exact a price by undermining Chinese independence. For three months Marshall had filled the role of the strong friend. The morning after his arrival in Washington he reported to a press conference what had been accomplished--with scarcely a word of his own part in it:

"The Chinese people are engaged in an effort which should command the grateful cooperation of the entire world. It is an effort almost without precedent. Their leaders are making daily progress toward the settlement . . . of deep-seated and bitter conflicts which have lasted for 20 years . . . . They are succeeding in . . . ending hostilities . . . and are now engaged in the business of demobilizing vast military forces and integrating the remainder into a national army. They have agreed to the basic principles for the achievement in China of political and economic advances which were centuries coming to Western democracies. . . ."

George Marshall paused, puckered his brow intently, continued with even more deliberation: "If we are to have peace--if the world wants peace, there are compelling reasons why China's present effort must succeed. This depends in a large measure on actions of other nations. If China is ignored, or if there is scheming to thwart her present aspirations, her effort will fail. . . .

"I feel quite certain of the sympathetic interest of the American people in China, but I am not quite so certain of their understanding, or that of their political leaders, of the vital importance to the U.S. of the success of the Chinese efforts toward unity and economic stability. . . . The next few months are of tremendous importance to the Chinese people and . . . to the future peace of the world. . . ."

The great citizen-soldier who, in a totalitarian war, had assembled and directed an army without deviating an inch in the direction of totalitarian practices, had become a leader and spokesman of the drive for a nontotalitarian peace.

The Experiment. George Marshall had just donned the mufti of retirement when the call came from Washington for one more great task. One day last November he was at his Leesburg (Va.) farm, where he takes a countryman's joy in pruning trees, growing sweet corn and keeping compost pits. President Truman, troubled and hard-pressed by the explosive resignation of Ambassador Pat Hurley, was on the wire. Would the General postpone his well-earned rest to do an emergency job in China? With a sigh, the General looked at his half-unpacked bags. Ten days later, he was on his way to Chungking, 12,000 miles from Leesburg.

The immediate problem was how to help China's dissident factions translate general agreement into specific cooperation. Marshall struck straight for the specifics--a truce in China's civil war and a plan to fuse China's rival armies.

For his experiment in applied democracy, the Special Envoy set up his main laboratory in Chungking, in a Western-style villa of faced stone called "Happiness Gardens," above the confluence of the Kialing and the Yangtze. Into the living room, deeply carpeted and warmed against the damp Szechwan winter by a charcoal-burning fireplace, came leaders of China to pay their respects, to present gift scrolls, and to argue their cases before Ma Hsieh-erh, as "Marshall" is transliterated into Chinese.

The Definition. At first the Special Envoy listened much, spoke little. He was direct, straightforward, unfailingly polite. Soon his visitors referred to him as "The Old Professor," a token of esteem in China, where the scholar still ranks above the other three classes (farmers, artisans and merchants) of society.

Once a delegation of the Democratic League, including several eminent educators, was asked by Marshall to be specific in its proposals for democracy. A delegate countered: "What is democracy?"

The Special Envoy did not hesitate. "At the risk of entering into theoretical discussion with a group of experts, who should be giving me a definition," he said, "I might say there seem to be a great many definitions of democracy in the world today . . . . The Russians have one, the British have another, we have our own . . . . I can only tell you what many

Americans consider to be the definition of democracy. We think of it as a system which gives us an inherent right to have a voice in our own affairs, the right to speak freely, the right to assemble peaceably, and to go about our own affairs without interference unless we interfere with the rights of others. . . ."

The Proving Ground. The test of the experiment was the conference on the military truce, in which the Special Envoy sat as chairman and mediator. On his left was General Chou Enlai, the Communists' veteran No. 1 negotiator; on his right was General Chang Chun, the Government's progressive-minded governor of Szechwan. There was a variation in this setup during the conference on military reorganization. Then Marshall sat only as adviser. General Chou spoke for the Communists; General Chang Chih-chung, onetime aide-de-camp to Generalissimo Chiang Kaishek, carried on for the Government.

The Special Envoy did not force his opinions. He preferred to state the issues, then let each side express its views. And he always steered the discussion to a specific, written proposal. At the proper psychological moment, he would pour on the catalyzing chemicals of a working democrat.

Sometimes he would step into a foment of angry words, suggest that the point be suspended, direct the talk elsewhere. Or, smiling warmly, Marshall would invite all to an interlude of tea, American style, with pastries and sandwiches.

Intuition and tact made an indispensable formula. At first the Special Envoy could not fathom General Chou's insistence that the Communists needed more time to reorganize their army. Then he got a flash. Would it speed things up if U.S. officers taught the Communists the fundamentals of modern military staff work? General Chou leaped at the suggestion, hurried to Yenan and hurried back with approval. What had held the Communists back was the fear of fumbling and losing face in the process of streamlining their unwieldy forces.

Perhaps Marshall's most effective technique was to reach back for the stories of the great historical precedents which determined the relations of citizens to soldiers in the English-speaking world. Was there an issue about quartering troops on the citizenry? Marshall could tell of the victory Charles I's third parliament had won over him on that point, or how a protest against quartering troops on citizens came to be in the Declaration of Independence and a guarantee against it in the U.S. Constitution. Was there an issue about the size of army units? Marshall knew that wartime efficiency called for army groups. He also understood that army groups in peacetime China would almost inevitably revive warlordism; over China's poor transportation system, a central government would never be able to concentrate enough men to overpower a rebellious army group leader. The Chinese saw the point, agreed that armies of no more than three divisions, reporting directly to the Government, would be the largest unit.

The Chinese recognized Marshall's sincerity. In his own country and in a day of great military peril he had not hesitated to make similar sacrifices of "military efficiency" for the sake of democratic control. Not long after Pearl Harbor his staff had proposed far more rigid press controls. Marshall told them:

"We sit here at the moment with the destiny of our nation resting on our judgment and our ability," he said. "We think we are competent. We think we can fulfill our responsibility. But how can we be sure?" He had added: "And as far as I am concerned the press is one of my best inspectors general."

The Assistant. Between talks, the Special Envoy walked the streets or climbed the steps of cliffside Chungking. Sometimes he would drive a few miles out to the paddy fields, where a countryman far from his own acres could sample another good earth.

In the evenings, over a cup of jasmine tea or a Bourbon oldfashioned, the Special Envoy would mull over the day's progress. In slippers and dressing gown, he would sit at his desk in the study bedroom, where two photographs of. Mrs. Marshall looked at him reassuringly, and pen terse reports to Washington.

One night, while rereading Benjamin Franklin's autobiographical writings, he found an assistant for his experiment. Next day Government and Communist conferees were handed a translation from English into Chinese, with a brief preface: "The following address was delivered to the Convention which produced the Constitution of the U.S. It was given by Benjamin Franklin, then in his 82nd year." The Chinese, who had been grumbling over the unity formula just worked out by their own constitutional convention, the Political Consultation Conference, read what Franklin had to say:

"When you assemble a number of men to have the advantage of their joint wisdom, you inevitably assemble with those men all their prejudices, their passions, their errors of opinion, their local interests, and their selfish views. From such an assembly can perfection be expected? It therefore astonishes men to find this system approaching so near to perfection as it does. . . ."

The wisdom of the American Founding Father, spoken at a time of life which in itself commands veneration in China, so impressed all readers that copies were soon circulated throughout Chungking.

"Terror of the Evildoers." Nineteen days after George Marshall's arrival in Chungking, the Government and the Communists signed a truce. Six weeks later they signed a formal agreement to reduce and merge their armies (from 300 divisions to 60, within 18 months). But no man understood better than the Special Envoy that agreement, in principle, on a high political level would mean nothing unless kept, in practice, at a low political level. He had promoted the idea of an Executive Headquarters, set up at Peiping, which sent out Government-Communist-U.S. field teams to enforce the truce terms.

The field teams were a key ingredient in Marshall's experiment. They soon found their task rugged; local commanders were still skirmishing, blocking communications, endangering the whole program. On March 1. the Special Envoy, accompanied by Generals Chou En-lai and Chang Chih-chung, left Happiness Gardens for 3,500 miles of wicked winter flying over north China. In less than a week he visited ten cities and towns, whirled through inspections, receptions and 15-course banquets, heard himself extolled by banner-waving greeters as "Terror of the Evildoers. . . . First Lord of the Warlords. . . . Most Fairly [sic] Friend of China." He also rubbed out most of the trouble spots.

To recalcitrant generals, whether of diehard Kuomintang or diehard Communist persuasion, he talked with the firmness of a Dutch uncle and the adroitness of a donkey driver who knows the value of both stick and carrot. One burly commander, who said that he could not control his troops, was trapped by the steely Marshall eye. "I have only to look at you," said the Special Envoy, "to know that your people will do just what you tell them. Trouble is, you haven't told them, have you?" The commander beamed with confusion and pleasure, admitted that maybe he hadn't spoken loud enough, promised to make amends.

On March 11 after a final conference with Generalissimo Chiang and Lieut. General Albert C. Wedemeyer, U.S. commander in the China Theater, the Special Envoy emplaned for the U.S. At the very last moment, he scored another success. Government and Communist negotiators agreed to extend the truce machinery to Manchuria. There the slowly evacuating Russians have left behind a situation which George Marshall openly Calls "critical." Meanwhile in Chungking this week, Communist General Chou kept the pot simmering by accusing the Kuomintang of seeking to continue "one-party dictatorship."

Plans & Needs. The Special Envoy reported his views on Chungking and Manchuria to President Truman and Secretary of State Byrnes. But his prime reason for returning to the U.S. was to get rapid action on credits to China.

"The economic emergency," China's Premier T. V. Soong has reported, "is no less serious than the war itself." Most urgently, China needs food; in the drought-scorched central provinces, millions are facing famine. T. V. has said that imports of wheat, wheat flour and rice can solve a third of his nation's most pressing economic problems.

There are other elementary needs. Clothing is desperately short; raw cotton is needed for the surviving textile plants. Transport has to be repaired: river and coastal shipping is down to 100,000 tons from the prewar 1,500,000; railway coverage has shrunk to a fourth of the prewar meager 16,000 miles. Broken dikes must be mended, whole cities rehoused, chronic inflation checked.

Credits & Surpluses. Premier Soong has held out no prospect save the bitter one of higher taxes and continued shortages. Reparations in kind from Japan will eventually help. But Manchuria, once the white hope of China's reconstruction, has become a liability instead of an asset, thanks to Russian stripping of Japanese-built factories. A $33,000,000 cotton loan from the U.S. Export-Import Bank promises to ease the textile situation. Most effective will be UNRRA's $562,000,000 shot in China's economic arm, but this will only start the job of rehabilitation.

China needs credit--and lots of it--from the U.S. She hopes for a billion and a half, on long-range terms, from the World Bank. Beyond the financial helping hand, she needs a large share of the tremendous surplus property owned by the U.S. (particularly ships, trucks, locomotives, freight cars). Special Envoy Marshall pleaded last week for special priority for China.

U.S. military and naval personnel are helping train China's new army, but China also needs more U.S. technical help to teach her own people the skills of a mechanized age.

Ambition & Avarice. Having made his plea to the U.S. Government and the U.S. people, Special Envoy Marshall planned to return to China. The Chinese wanted him back; his presence, they felt, was the best assurance that his work would not be undone. Generalissimo Chiang spoke for his nation when he said last week: "Our confidence in him is unbounded." For George Marshall viewed China, the U.S. and the world much as they were viewed nearly 100 years ago by his distant kinsman, Humphrey Marshall, U.S. Commissioner to the Celestial Empire in 1853-54. Wrote Cousin Humphrey:

"Whenever the avarice or the ambition of Russia or Great Britain shall tempt them to make the prizes, the fate of Asia will be sealed, and the future Chinese relations of the United States may be considered as closed for the ages, unless now the United States shall foil the untoward result by adopting a sound policy. It is my opinion that the highest interests of the United States are involved in sustaining China . . . rather than see China become the theater of widespread anarchy, and ultimately the prey of European ambitions."

Cousin Humphrey italicized the word "now." As he went about Washington last week, stressing the importance of U.S. support for China, Cousin George was italicizing the same word.

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